The Ward
by HiAjay
Summary: "When you hold your breath underwater, thinking you'll be fine, as long as you can reach the surface, your wrong," He said quietly as he nipped at his already stub thumb nail, "The body has a 'shut down' phase that kicks in when you've been under for too long, like if you were being drowned," He looked dazed and out of focus "You get a killer headache before your body starts to shu
1. Chapter 1

"When you hold your breath underwater, thinking you'll be fine, as long as you can reach the surface, your wrong," He said quietly as he nipped at his already stub thumb nail, "The body has a 'shut down' phase that kicks in when you've been under for too long, like if you were being drowned," He looked dazed and out of focus "You get a killer headache before your body starts to shut down, one by one, your organs realize that they aren't getting oxygen . . . So they stop working."

He leans forward, his body loose and slouching over on his elbows as he leans on the table; fiddling with his pale slim fingers. "Then, you're out. Unconscious . . . Until someone pulls you out and gives you breath, like being born, they don't just save you, the give life to you," He looks at his fingers unfocused, the small amount of light from the window make his eyes almost seem black.

"I'm just waiting for something to happen, something strange. You couldn't explain it, even if you wanted too," He glances up shortly, "And you feel like you've been losing a winning battle," his eyes trail back down to his fingers which stopped looping each other. "Mr. Stilinski, your vast knowledge surprises me," The Doctor says, "But this doesn't explain to me what it is that put you here," She gestured around the small stone room.

"When someone is labeled, that label sticks to them until they die, maybe even then," He says ignoring her "Have you been to a 'wake' where someone steps up to the casket and says something that was relevant years prior?" He asks as he begins to mingle his fingers, "Like a nickname" he pauses and looks at the small window, "I have . . . several times,"

He faces the doctor, "Tell me where you would draw the line?" his voice drops and is husk, slightly raspy. The doctor pushes her glasses up slightly and looks down at the file in front of her. She studies it carefully. "8 months and 6 days," He says looking back down at his fingers, "You people are supposed to know what's wrong, it's in your description," He muses without a smile. The Doctor looks at him, she leans forward and touches a hand to his arm, his grey sweat shirt feeling rough under her fingers.

"We both lost someone," She patted her hand gently on his forearm and pulled away, "It may be true that we should know the cause and effect," She closed his file, "But only you know what's in your head," she removed her glasses and looked at the younger male. His eyes a beautiful translucent brown; only when in the light, when shaded they almost seem black.

"I'm tired," he said, sounding distant, "I want to sleep and just stay asleep for awhile," He shakes his head weakly. She gives him a great sigh and nods her head, "Alright, let's get you back to you room," She stood up and took the files from the table. He followed behind her quietly, like he always has. When he leaves that room, he never says a word, doesn't even try. He'll notice things, yes, but he'll never speak, not while he's out in the open.

She walked him down the hall where the windows where larger than life, she walked this way with him, and only him. She'd noticed how he liked to see the outside world, the clouds that would roll in, or even the others playing outside. They walked through double doors to an open space, like a breeze way, or an inner courtyard; with few tables and chairs. She lead him an open door, "I won't see you tomorrow, someone else will see you until I return," she whispers as she watches him walk passed her and into the small room. He didn't respond, and she expected that. "Get some rest," She mumbled as she shut the door.

He looked at his bunker, the small metal frame that was his bed and the sink that was glued to the wall beside it. It looked like a prison cell. That was the idea when these places where built. He sat down for a moment, then swung his legs up and lay down.

He stared at the ceiling until he slowly drifted off into sleep.

"Hello little one, I was looking for you," a feminine voice said softly, "Why are you hiding down there?" she questioned with a smile, "Oh, you're hiding from your father?" She said, "Well let me join you, may I hide with you?"

A face seemingly familiar, a voice that pulled at his heart; and a smile he wouldn't forget. Yet, he found himself trying to remember, too see.

"Don't cry child, I'll always protect you," she smiled

How hurtful, He shot up from his bed, his breath caught on the lump in his throat. I rubbed his hands to his face, wiping the tears and their trails.

He then rubbed a hand down his neck, sighing. His eyes wanting to desperately close, while his head is screaming to keep them open "Stilinski," he looked a guard held the door open, "It's time," the guard said. He sighed one last time as he stood up and followed the guard out. They walked the same hallway he took the other day to return to his room. The guard didn't walk as slow as the doctor, she allowed him to see out the windows as they walked. They guards where more 'work and no play.'

They opened the door to another room, the room he was in yesterday. He was looking down as he walked in, he wasn't looking forward to this, since it wasn't the person he was used to seeing. He took his seat and rested his head on the cold metal. Not caring and not noticing who or what was sitting in front of him.

"He doesn't like strangers, and you'll have to usually pry information out of him," The guard said, "Nice piece of advice Guard 34, I know your personal record, and trust me, I'm not the one with a problem with strangers," He said almost muffled being that his chin was almost pressed to his chest while he keep his head to the table. The guard huffed and mumbled something as he closed the door as he left.

"What a jackass," He lifted his head. He was taken back by what he saw. A young man, maybe 3 or 4 years older than himself; dark hair and muscles like you wouldn't believe. His eyes where a light hazel, maybe green, and stubble. Like a permanent 5 o'clock shadow. He smiled at the younger male. Not a toothy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He favored the loose Hanley shirt he wore that expose his collar bone nicely . . . Wait, no. That wasn't happening. "Hi," He opened the file, "Stiles?" He asked, looking questioningly at the younger man, "Uh, yeah, that's my nickname," Stiles said, feeling rather stupid for telling the Doc that that was his nickname, he didn't need to know that. "What's your real name?" He asked looking through all the papers, "That's classified information," Stiles slipped, when he realized what he said he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. He stared down at his fingers, toying with them. "I see," The man says. "You've been here for -"

"8 months and 7 days," Stiles said, cutting him off. "Right, and you've been having sessions with Dr. McCall," He glance up at Stiles, "Yeah," He mumbled.

"I'm Dr. Hale,"


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles snuck glances at this Dr. Something about him, something. Dr. Hale continued to read through, "What really drove them to put a boy like you," He paused and set his hands on the file "To an insane asylum," Dr. Hale studies his hands for a moment then looks back up to Stiles.

"You read the file, your he doctor," Stiles lazily pointed at the papers protruding from the yellow folder. Stiles noticed a few photo's of his friend, his mother, and his father. But none of him, well maybe there was one, but it wasn't he ones he'd want to be shown around. "I am a Doctor, but that doesn't mean I know everything, I just study what I see, what I hear," He stares at Stiles.

Stiles fidgets in his seat, he's leaned back into his chair with his hands laid on his stomach. "Listen, Doc," Stiles shuts his eyes, "Human behavior isn't something you can learn, I've dealt with what I had to, I was put here because Ms. McCall thought I would kill myself," Stiles closed his eyes and sighed heavily. An uncomfortable silence took place. Neither wanted to really say anything; But things needed to be figured out. "Stiles, you don't belong in here," Dr. Hale voiced, sounding concerned with the boy, "You know, when you place a person on a bridge and tell them to jump, there is an 80% chance that they will," Stiles answers.

"Because they believe that they're just a waste of space, and no one needs them," Stiles opens his eyes and looks at his hands, "Same with putting someone in a box," He glanced up at Dr. Hale, "you put them there tell them that they're crazy . . . Eventually they start to believe it," Stiles leaned forward almost inches away from the Doctors face, "You," Stiles whispered "You're in pain,"

The doctor raised an eyebrow, "And you came up with that how?" He humored Stiles. "Why else would you be a profiler an in FBI case," Stiles said under his breath "Doc,"

The doctor leaned back in his chair, taken back from what he'd just heard. Stiles stayed put and watched carefully. The older man seemed to contemplate what he should say, "Derek," he finally said, "How could you possibly know that?" He rubbed a hand under his nose and down to his chin.

Stiles looked into the man's eyes, carefully studying the sight of them. "You're here to see if I was really-" Stiles mad air quotes "_Crazy,_" Derek sighed "I came here to see if the rumors were true, and to evaluate you," Derek seemed slightly ashamed of his purpose there.

"And your evaluation is?" Stiles raised an eyebrow. Derek is quiet, he reads over the papers "You aren't crazy, never were you crazy,"

Stiles eyes widened in disbelief, "You're grieving, and what Dr. McCall did, and keeping you in here -" He stopped himself, "You're going home, Mr. Stilinski," Derek closed the file and looked up at the boy; his eyes filled with tears; but not falling from where they sit on his bottom lids. "I'll personally escort you out of this place and back home," Derek stands up and hits the glass window behind him.

"There's a catch," Stiles says, "What is it?" Stiles watch the man's back become rigid and tight, "I'll explain it all when I take you home," The door is swung open.

Stiles took his time getting his things, but now he stood in front of the door. The doors that lead to the outside world; Derek was talking to the attendant by the door, Stiles watch carefully. He readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and waited for his call.

Derek eventually called him over. It was strange, getting into a car that screamed 'I'm making more money than I can handle.' A beautiful black Camaro; not to mention that he was sitting in the passenger seat next to the world's hottest man. It's weird.

"You're my partner," Derek said, sounding rather strained. Like all he wanted to do was break that really uncomfortable silence. "I won't work for the people that did this to me," Stiles said as he stared out the passenger window. Derek looked him over then stared at the road as he made his way back into Beacon Hills. It was a long ride and Stiles was tired. He'd just been pulled out of a place he hated, a place that took all his sanity.

"I won't," Stiles says lowly, "We need someone like you, Stiles," Derek offers, throwing him a glance. Stiles doesn't answer, he sits in silence the rest of the way. It seemed to make Derek very comfortable, his shoulders seemed rigid and on the edge. It rubbed off on Stiles, making him feel wary of the situation. "Is this it?" Derek asked as he pulled in front of Stiles home—well his dad's old home.

"You know exactly that this is my Dad's home," Stiles says swinging open the door. "I just needed to make sure," Derek tightens his grip on the wheel. "Just-" Stiles stopped himself, he got out of the car and pulled his backpack out and leans in a little.

"Just leave me alone," He steps back and slams the door shut. He was waiting to hear him drive off, but the sound didn't come until he was inside.

Stiles locked the door and took a deep breath. He turned around slowly; the house was empty and dark. He looked around, hoping for his father, his embrace. And it was far from happening, Stiles kept his eyes low and just headed upstairs to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

If nightmares were a figment of a creative imagination, then Stiles was far beyond having them. His nightmares weren't figments, let alone part of his imagination. They were memories, horrible and brutal memories. They were all too real; it was like someone out there wanted to make sure he didn't forget what happened.

It was hard for him to sleep. It was hard for him to do anything. Stiles stared at the dust covered laptop, maybe he can search up some remedies for sleep. Because he was in dire need of it; but he settled into his old bed and shut his eyes; letting his breathing and the sound of his heart drift him to sleep. Finally, he found a small peace of mind.

Derek huffed as he pulled into his non-existent driveway; the Hale home was just nestled within the Beacon Hills forest. As he turned off the engine, he sat in silence. Those eyes, those beautiful, pain filled, chocolate brown eyes. They imprinted into his mind without his permission. Derek loosened his grip on his steering wheel and leaned into his seat. He exhaled loudly, "Jesus," He said under his breath.

Derek looked over the passenger, where just moments ago a young man sat. His being filling the now lonely car; He pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure what his assignment was anymore. It was just one meeting, just one ordinary boy. Nothing special; besides his long lashes that were totally contrasted against that freckled pale skin. Besides those slim fingers that wouldn't sit still, besides those eyes that were painstakingly deep.

"Stop it," Derek mumbled, he shut his eyes for a moment seeing the boy through closed lids. "Fuck," He opened his eyes lazily and opened his door. There was no point in trying to hide it, he wasn't perusing the boy. He hardly knows him anyway.

As he headed towards his front porch his phone buzzed. He reached in his pocket and checked the I.D.

"Calling late, I'll start to think you want to flirt with me," Derek groaned as he held the phone to his ear.

"Don't flatter yourself Hale," The chef, Chris replied, "How'd it go?" He asked, not a bit of concern or worry, The guy just visited the insane asylum and he wasn't worried that his profiler might have gone crazy as well.

"Uh, it was-" He took a moment to think about the boy, how he walked into the stone room they placed them in. How painful it was just to hear him talk like there was no more soul or fight in him left. "Fine, it went better than I thought, I just-"

"Great, I've sent you a copy of this kids' personal file, just read over it and learn more than what the doctor gave you," Chris said. It was all work, Derek felt like he wanted to just pass out, sleep seemed really blissful right about now.

Derek magically made it to his front door and opened it, "Yeah, I'll read over it tonight, mayb-"

"Uncle Derek!" Derek paused as he heard the little voice call from the other line, "Allison, it's bed time," Chris said firmly. Derek found a smile curved his lips. "Calling from home? Should I feel special?" He mused as he locked his front door behind him.

"Shut up Hale, I need you to get to know the boy, its important," Chris sighed almost sounding like he was lifting something, "Uncle Derek! Are you come over for my party, saturday?" Allison's excited voice caused Derek to pull the phone away for a moment, "I will be there," Derek chuckled softly. He just heard her giggle and off she went, or he assumed.

"Kids, glad she's the only one I have," Chris laughed, "Well then I'll leave you to your work." Derek nodded. A click came to his ear, he tossed his phone on the island in his kitchen.

He wishes it was hard to notice the file on his island, but his phone slid next to it. He sighed. He was just tired, and didn't want to do anything. Yet, his curiosity was lit, he wanted to know more about this beauty he had to deal with.

The original file he had only mentioned that he was an only child, he was diagnosed with ADD, or ADHD. Either way he was on meds for it. And the rest were records of deflected lines he would use, like when children don't want to talk about something. Derek would catch those lines without actually needed to look at the his file; since he's worked with kids before.

It came in handy, but this Stiles, he was different. Derek could feel him deflecting, but he couldn't tell what was what with him. He sighed as he made his way around the island.

His fingers touched the stained yellow construction folder. It read "**Classified**" in bold red letters, what could this kid have done to deserve a classified file?

Derek opens it to its photo, Stiles' photo. His face lighter in expression, his eyes open and wide, his lips curved in a semi-smile and a red hoodie that catches Derek's eye. "Stiles Stilinski," Derek mumbled. he took the papers out and spread them across the granite. Photos and reports scattered along the island, Derek's eyes drifted from photo to photo, a happy boy not having a care in the world.

"What twisted him?" Derek ran his hand under his nose. He lifted a photo with Stiles and an older man, "Wait," Derek knitted his eyebrows together, "Stilinski?" it hit Derek like a hit to the face, this boy was the sheriffs son. Derek set the photo aside and looked through the over lapping papers. "He . . .," Derek trailed off as he located and held the paper in his hand.

"John Stilinski found dead, by gunshot wound to the chest," Derek felt his breath catch in his throat, "Along with 2 of his leading officers, Stilinski was working the late shift when an unidentified suspect claims to have business with the man," Derek eyes the happy photo of the kid and his father. His heart sank and his stomach did unnatural turns.

"Stiles Stilinski arrived on scene to witness the suspect run passed him, He refused to say anything more to the press or friends,"

A murder, and the case was cold. "This kid had every right to be the way he is," Derek said to himself. He set the paper down and spotted a news article, "GRIEVING SHERIFF"

He shook his head, the press never had any better titles. He lifted it carefully, it was old and worn.

"John Stilinski, sheriff of BHPD, lost his wife this afternoon, Mr. Stilinski refused to speak on the behave of him and his 11 year old son" Derek's stomach did more of those unnatural turns. He set it down, he rested his hands on either side of the island and slumped forward. Another news article catching his eye, he didn't have to move this one, "SCOTT MCCALL LOST EARILY"

"Scott?" Derek recognized the name from—"Shit," He uttered the words out like venom. "Scott is Dr. McCall's son, only son,"

"This kid has a death record that isn't even his,"

It took Derek all night, reading every report, every article. He read everything and saw every picture. It practically breathed Stiles when he was done. He found himself wanting to hug the kid, and Derek doesn't hug. He fell asleep on his couch, with papers piled on to papers around him. Re-reading what he's read and studying everything. Wanted to remember Stiles face before he actually fell asleep.

But sleep caught him, regardless.


	4. Chapter 4

The early morning hours are what Stiles hated the most. His sleep only lasted him a good hour before he woke up to the sounds of his screams echoing through the empty house. He laid there, staring at his door, hoping, maybe longing that his father break the door and hold him in his arms. But he remembers, he remembers that night.

He pulls his needs up to his chest and cries into them. His chest tightening along with the rest of his body, becoming rigid and clenched; He's surprised that his cries didn't alarm anyone, or get him a knock at the front door. Though he wished it did. Eventually Stiles found himself walking down stairs dazedly, flopping down on to the large couch face the television. The pictures beneath the Large TV were just cruel reminders of what he lost, who he lost.

Stiles felt his chest tighten and twist, his body felt worn and out of place. He curled himself on the couch, his arms warp around him and he sighed deep.

8 months in a place where everyone believes you are crazy, Stiles slowly wanted to believe he was. No one listened to you, you couldn't trust anyone. There were incidents, incidents that he doesn't want to remember. But his mind forces him to; He tore his eyes from the photo of his father.

"You'd hate me," Stiles whimpers, "You would," He chokes on a sob. Stiles forces his tears back as he hears a knock at his door. At first he's scared, he doesn't know who hear he was back home. And there were a share of people that really didn't like him, even more so since he was emitted to the looney-bin.

"Stiles? It's me," A familiar voice, one that was all too soothing and comforting, "Isaac," he said muffled through the door. Stiles rushed to the door and unlocked it. As sure a she was of himself, there was Isaac, in his favorite knit beige sweater, with a grey t-shirt underneath it.

Isaac smiled widely at him. Stiles wrapped his arms around the young boy, "Whoa," Isaac laughed as he patted Stiles' back, "I missed you too," He humored.

Eventually Stiles lead Isaac in and they sat in silence. Stiles can feel the questions hanging on Isaac's lips, "How are you, Isaac?" Stiles finally said.

"I'm doing fine, but that's not what I'm here for," Isaac reached for Stiles hands, gently setting it over them. "Stiles-"

"Please don't ask me about it, I-" Stiles felt Isaac's grip become tight around his hands, "What happened to you?"

"Places like that, Stiles, I don't want you to keep it to yourself like you always do," Isaac let go of his hands and sat on one of the stools. Stiles followed him and sat on the stool next to him. "Melissa has been visiting," Stiles slipped out, "She was making sure I was okay," Stiles felt his body cringe. Isaac set a comforting hand on his knee.

"Isaac, I've seen some bad things, I've hurt in ways I don't understand," Stiles looked down at his hands, avoiding Isaac all together. "I, I was-" Stiles licks his lips feeling they were dry, "I was rap-"

"No, Stiles, no," Isaac's face was horrified and placed with disbelief. Isaac's off his stool and taking over Stiles personal space; His arms were around Stiles neck, practically suffocating him. "I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm sorry,"

Stiles could feel the teen shed tears that Stiles refused to shed. It was a good cry, well it felt like a relief that he wasn't the only one upset about it. That he wasn't crazy, because he wasn't the only that felt like this was real and it was a horrible fate.

Isaac loosened his grip and sniffled as he pulled away from Stiles. "Emotional wreck," Stiles playfully hit Isaac's chin. Isaac laughed as he wiped his eyes. It was mid-afternoon and Isaac helped clean the place up. They spent more time cleaning and opening windows then actually talking. They listened to music as they cleaned, all from 70's rock to today's country.

Stiles enjoy it. He liked having Isaac around; he was like a little brother to him.

It was five thirty or so when they heard a knock at the door. They shared a look to make sure neither of them knew who was at the door. When they didn't answer one another Stiles headed there from the kitchen. Setting down his gloves and dust rag as he walked, "I'm coming, I'm-" He stopped himself as he opened the door.

"Stiles," Derek says, he seems uncomfortable, like his done something wrong. Stiles gazes up at him, his hazel eyes lighting his features. Stiles takes a step back making sure he isn't really dreaming. He can't be, Derek was standing at hid front door, seemingly real.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek wore a button down dark navy blue shirt. Its sleeves rolled up to his elbow, Dark pants that seemed fit him snug—not that Stiles was checking him out or anything.

But Stiles did notice Derek's gun holster, brown faded out leather that hugged his shoulders. "I thought FBI stopped using those," was all that came out of Stiles mouth. Well that totally wasn't awkward, "What?" Derek looked himself over "Uh, nothing never-mind, come in," Stiles shook his head as he held the door open for him. Derek stepped in and looked around.

Stiles was glad he was cleaning with Isaac, "Isaac," Stiles called; The curly haired blonde poked his head in to the entrance as Stiles shut the door.

"Yes?" He called, Isaac looked Derek over from where he stood, Stiles pushed passed Derek "This is Dr. Hale," Stiles looked at Derek, who stood rather uncomfortably in the entrance way. "Derek, call me Derek," He said as he looked over at Isaac "Derek," Stiles called, Derek's eyes flashed to Stiles, his name sounding like composed music from his lips. "This is Isaac, A friend, well more like my little brother," Stiles walked and gestured Derek to follow, and so he did.

"I don't have anything to offer you, Expect a glass of tap water," Stiles leans against the sink. "No, I don't need anything, thank you," He tightens his fist at his sides. Isaac makes his way in to the kitchen, moving warily passed Derek.

"I'm going to go shopping with Danny, Okay," Isaac tried to whisper. "Okay," Stiles gave him a crooked smile. With a small hug Isaac left; leaving him alone with Derek, "Little brother?"

"Yeah, my dad and I practically raised him after his father was arrested," Stiles gestured Derek to the dinning table, Derek took a seat and looked back over at him. "What was the arrest for?" Derek asked.

Stiles facial expression was altered from light hearted to deep thought and lost. Like when they spoke in the asylum. "His _dad_, I use the term loosely, beat him, and locked him up in small spaces for long periods of time, without reason," Derek saw anger strike Stiles face.

He let the subject drop. It was a sensitive area and he didn't wish to push further, "But you aren't here to talk about Isaac," Stiles voice wisped at Derek, like mist. Clouding his mind to why he was actually here.

"No, I came to talk to you about what I said the other night," He managed to say, Derek realized he sounded strained. He stared at Stiles, his expression unchanged. Stiles watched as Derek seemed interested in the way his facial expression would change. Derek was a profiler; it was his job to see change to catch what normal people would dismiss. Stiles sighed and walked over to the dining table, he sat across from Derek. Watching as he shifted in his seat to face him.

He rested his arms on to the light brown coffee table. "What will I get out of it?" Stiles asked, his tone was leveled and calm. Derek seemed rather surprised that Stiles didn't dismiss the idea all together. "You'll get paid, and-"

"Money isn't an issue," Stiles cut him off, "I can make ends meet just for food, thought it be nice to worry, Money is something that comes with every job," Stiles scratched a small area behind his ear. Careful to see Derek pay an enormous amount of attention to him, "What's in it for me?" Stiles asked as he leans back in the wooden chair.

"Protection, and a hassle free life," Derek said.

"You can't promise that, you and I know that, I've seen enough to understand that good Karma won't always pay off," Stiles said, "So tell me what it's in for me,"

"You're difficult, you talk way too much and you seem to be on the same level of intelligence as I am, maybe higher," Derek shook his head and looked down at his hands, he thinks back to all the pieces of paper that tried to describe this kid, all those words and sentence didn't know the real Stiles.

Come to think of it, neither did Derek. But he was sure that these papers weren't remotely close to what Stiles was really like. "Alright, Derek," He raised his head to make eye contact "Say it, and I'll jump on board," Stiles closes tight and opened, like he wanted to roll his eyes.

"Say what?" Derek raised an eyebrow "You know what you need to say to me," Stiles answered.

"What can you offer me?" Stile leaned in and stared at Derek. He thought for a moment, what could Derek offer?

"Nothing," He said idly. "There's nothing you want or need from me,"

For the first time since he met Stiles, he saw the kids' lips curve in a beautiful Cupid's bow smile. Derek could've sworn he felt something jump in his chest. "Alright, I'm in,"

Stiles offered his hand with a wide smile. Derek was taken aback by the sudden change in facial expression. He shook his hand, "this Saturday, is your first assignment," Derek Said releasing the thin pale hand.

"Elaborate," Stiles leaned back comfortably into the wooden seat. "You'll need to meet the Chef," Derek said flatly.

The front door opened loudly, taken their attention away from each other, "Stiles, we have food!" Isaac's happy voice filled the air. Stiles laughed "Food!" He flailed his arms over his head and jumped up as Isaac came into view from behind Derek, with brown bags of groceries.

Derek got a glimpse of the spirit that existed in the photos, the smiling boy. Derek couldn't help the smile that wanted to take place on his lips. "Hey Stiles," Stiles whirled around as he heard a voice that was familiar, "Danny!" Stiles laughed as he ran over to hug the tall man.


	6. Chapter 6

He wasn't as tall as Derek but enough to be a match. Stiles released him and headed to Isaac, "Hey," Danny said as he saw Derek stand up, "Hi," Derek reach out his hand, "I'm Derek,"

"I wish I could tell you I was single," He jokes as he shakes his hand

"I'm still in the room, Danny," Isaac pouts, and Stiles slaps a hand on his back, smiling like a total fool. "That's Danny, Isaac's boyfriend," Stiles pointed out to Derek, he nodded. The three filled the room with smiles and laughter. Derek starts for the door, "Excuse me," Stiles says as he catches Derek leaving, "Did I not say food?" He raises and eyebrow at him.

"I couldn-"

"You pulled me out of that place, let me feed you," Stiles smiled, he was like a totally different person, Derek didn't seem to mind, because this seemed more like him. It seemed like that's who this kid is supposed to be. Behind all the rigid and tense nature; Stiles felt comfortable. "Okay," Derek sighed. He watched the boy interact with the other too. Like he had family, Alone Stiles was a wall of defense. But with people, he was a total goof.

"What are we going to eat?" Stiles asked as he pulled apples and onions from the brown bags. "Don't ask me Mr. Cook," Isaac said as he put the items away.

After talking back and forth Stiles just began to cook. Danny, Isaac and Derek sat quietly at the dining table, "It's alright you guys, it isn't totally awkward to just sit in silence,"

"Well, I don't even know what to say," Isaac exclaims

"Yeah, you've been gone 8 months; Erica doesn't even know you're back yet," Danny interjected. Derek didn't say anything at all, Stiles turned around from the veggies he was chopping, holding the knife at his hip, "Well, damn," He laughed.

Derek watched carefully, though this happy Stiles was real and comfortable. There was a dark side that seemed to draw Derek in. The secrets that hid behind each smile Cause Derek to revert back to each paper and report he read about the boy. '_Good natured, talks a lot, Hyperactive,_' all the descriptions were true, but then there was the file from the asylum, '_Distance, mellow, doesn't talk a lot,_' within the two days that Derek has interacted with him made it clear.

Stiles had a side that protected his mental being. In his environment, in his home, Stiles was himself.

Stiles finished his cooking and served the plates to everyone. "My dad hated when I made this, but it was healthier then the fast food he would eat at the Station,"

Everyone stayed quiet at the mention of the sheriff. Isaac eyed Danny, and they both looked cautiously at Stiles. "That's why I'd force salads on him," Stiles laughed as he sat down, Isaac reached a hand across the table and sat a comforting hand on Stiles back. He looked at Isaac, who was sitting extremely close to Danny, "Stiles," Isaac's voice was low and gentle.

"It's alright Isaac, I'm fine," Stiles smiled as he looked down at his plate. A fine mix of pasta and red and green peppers, Stiles was proud that he didn't cry during the cooking. When memories of his father walking into the kitchen and mumble about how he wished Stiles was a normal person and ate like them. Sharing a Laugh.

But that was far gone, the laughter wasn't the same, it didn't feel the same. They began to eat quietly. Were on occasion Derek would mention how great the food was. And a small, quite thank you would slip past his lips.

After diner, Isaac and Danny cleaned up; only because Stiles said "You invaded my house and bought me food, you must clean,"

Stiles led Derek to the living room, he took a seat in his father's favorite arm chair and Derek sat on the longer couch facing the TV. The sat in silence, only hearing the small whispers and giggles that came from the kitchen. Stiles shook his head "It better be a cleaning joke you're laughing at,"

Derek shook his head and chuckled. Not realizing that he'd done so, "Wow," Stiles said, Derek looked over at Stiles, he's expression almost shocked, "You smile," Stiles gave a crooked smile. "Well, I'm not a robot, Stiles," He leaned comfortably on to the couch resting his arms across the top. Stiles huffed and looked over to the pictures he'd stared at this morning. Derek noticed the sadness and somewhat bliss that relaxed over Stiles body. As he opened his mouth to say something, Isaac and Danny walked into the room hand in hand.

"We're headed home," Isaac smiled up at Danny. "We'll be back tomorrow, with everyone, Okay?" Stiles smiled and lead them out, saying his quiet goodbyes. Soon he's back into the living room, "Beer?" he offers, Derek looked up from the photos, to meet Stiles eyes "Uh, sure,"

Stiles walked into the Kitchen and pulled to beers from the fridge. He opens them, impressively by hitting them against the counter top. He walked into the living room handing Derek his promised beer. "Thanks," He takes it. He leans on to his knees as he takes a swig. Stiles sits and stares down at it; watching it carefully. He raises it too his lips and lets the cold liquid run down.

Stiles wasn't one for dress and his Father always mocked him about it. Currently he wore his grey skinny's with a faded out red long sleeve, the sleeves bunched up at his elbows. Stiles didn't care what he looked like. It was his choice in what he wore. And he'd prefer it, if it stayed that way. "Are you even old enough to drink," Derek asked as he took another sip. Stiles glanced over slightly offend.

"I don't know if I should feel offended or flattered," Stiles replied, "I'm twenty-one, thank you very much," he proudly took a huge gulp of his beer. Derek chuckled as he pressed the tinted brown glass to his lips. "Explains you're code in dress," He gulped.

Stiles pulled the drink from his own lips and stared at Derek. His eyes slightly wide and hold a hint of familiarity, "My dad-" Stiles stopped himself. Stiles slumped over his knees and loosely held the beer in his hands. His eyes lowered, to where Derek could see how dark and long Stiles lashes were. "I talk about him a lot," He huffed, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to take a drink. "This is my first beer since he was murdered," Stiles looked up at Derek giving a wary smile, "This is my first beer since the looney-bin, Melissa would have my head," Stiles forced a laugh. Derek could see him slip into his defensive mode.


	7. Chapter 7

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't study me, I can feel it from here," Stiles shook his head then tilted up as he took a sip. "I wasn't studying you," Derek said honestly, because he wasn't. At least he doesn't think he was. "I just want to understand you," Derek says. Stiles lets out a rough laugh as he swallowed, "Understand me? What's there to understand?" Stiles sits back into the arm chair.

This time Derek find himself studying Stiles, finds himself looking over every pale feature. Every fold and curve on him. How his clothes wrinkled in certain places, how Stiles crossed his legs at the ankles. It was all hypnotizing and sent Derek's heart on a beating frenzy.

"Didn't I tell you not to do that?"

"I wasn't doing anything," Derek answered too quickly. Stiles stared at him and let out a blissful laugh. It filled the empty room, Derek can't remember the last time he's heard a laugh so powerful. He eventually joins in the laugh.

Their laughter eased into a comfortable silence. Stiles could hear a song playing, he'd forgotten to turn off his tape player. Instead of getting up and shutting it off, he waited for the chorus. Listening carefully his eye's widened, "Oh my god-" He smiled widely and tried to hide it under his hand. Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

"_I'll never break your heart, I'll never make you cry,_" Stile wasn't a great singer, but it at least sounded like he knew what he was doing. Derek laughed, "Really? The Backstreet Boys?"

"Hey, they were like a huge hit in the 90's"

"Yeah, white guys singing smooth R&B," Derek humored, Stiles just rolled his eyes "Face it, everyone has fallen victim to their music, I even bet you've fangirled them once," Stiles said sarcastically. Derek shuddered at the thought.

"Stiles,"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to Scott?" Stiles stilled at the mention of Scott. His eyes widened then lowered, his body seemed to clench and want to huddle over on itself. "Why do you ask," He set his beer down on the small coffee table. "It's my job to know,"

"I assume that you read my file, the one that has that report in it,"

"How did yo-"

"I was the one that helped put it together."

Stiles bit his lower lip, a nervous tick he's developed. Derek watched him carefully, how his movements became jerky and rough. Stiles rubbed his hand over his face and then ran his fingers through his hair, that somehow magically stands up like Tin-Tin's. Stiles stares down at his beer, he'd almost finished it. But he'd never really let himself drink more than two.

"A week or so," Stiles broke the silence, his voice sounding dry and scratchy "After my twenty-first birthday, Scott took it upon himself to take me out drinking, He was older by a few months so," Stiles leaned forward with a side smile.

"He said to me 'Stilinski, you are to be a man and drink!' Scott knew why I didn't drink, especially hard alcohol," he shifted in his seat, "And he was just trying to cheer me up, it had been a month since my father was murdered,"

There was a long pause, Derek noticed as to why. Stiles eyes were glossed over with tears that seemed to refuse to fall. It looked like he was having a hard time breathing. When Derek set his beer down to reach out to Stiles; he parted his lips "So he took Danny, and myself to a gay bar, and god only knows how we ended up there, I think Danny was driving, I wasn't to-" Tears began to trace his pale freckled cheeks.

Derek wanted to comfort him, hold him, shield him from what he knows, what he remembers. But he stayed put and waited for the next vocal outburst. "Sure where the switch was made, but we ended up there, and we were drinking an having fun, dancing, you know all the usual . . expect it was all in a gay bar," Stiles choked up a laugh, it was raspy and almost sounded painful.

"Scott was a vet, or something like that—he loved animals and was too kind of a guy to actually ignore someone who needed help with one," Derek tried to make sense of the jumbled story Stiles was telling. "A man came a long as we were walking down the street to our friend Erica's. We were way to hammered to drive so walking seemed suitable,"

Derek nodded as Stiles glance over at him. Proud that it was his only right decision that night. "The man cried, and cried it almost sounded like he was wailing. Scott noticed him only because he held a dead animal in his arms. The blood was like crimson, it was bright and glossy as it dripped from his arms and hands."

Stiles seemed to choke on a breath, "I was training—with a profiler and a field agent, for school. And something was iffy about this guy. I could feel it," Stiles shook his hands in front of him, he licked his lips as he stared down at his hands, "But I didn't stop Scott from approaching him, and next thing I know Scott's on the ground bleeding out, whilst this guy was smiling at me," Stiles paused, he looked at Derek, his eyes filled with anger and grief. Two emotions that Derek knows all to well in his line of work.

"It was the same Fucker that ran past me at the station."


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles face was twisted in anger and Derek couldn't blame him. Stiles had been handed a deck a cards that read Death all over them. First his mother, but that couldn't have been help. Then his father, a cold murder, according to the papers he was loved by most. But he as the sheriff, someone had a grudge. Then Scott, Stiles best friend since they were children.

Derek felt a sting within his chest. Just at the mention of someone who knew Stiles as a child, who spent all that time with him. Derek heard from Chris, that the two were practically inseparable. So dealing with all the heartache; Derek wasn't so sure he wanted to involve Stiles in any of this. His assignment to have him jump on board, as he described it, didn't seem worth it.

It cost Derek his own job, but Stiles-

"I didn't tell anyone what I saw, I didn't give a description," Stiles broke through Derek's thoughts. "Because I want to be the one to put a bullet in his chest," Stiles hands formed fist, he looked down at his feet and sighed.

Stiles seemed far gone. Derek could see that darkness that lingered, and even more so when Stiles looked at him. Those beautiful eyes, earlier were filled with joy and amusement, but now held resentment, betrayal and sorrow. They seemed dark and as deep as the ocean.

"Did I shock you?" Stiles asked, Derek refocus and sighed at him "No," He answered. Stiles stared at him, unsure. Derek seemed to be studying him again, but Stiles let it go. It was hard to go from job to civilian life. Stiles didn't say anything and just let him.

Plus, the guy saved him from the Asylum. So what can a little behavior watches and mood detectors hurt. So Stiles let him; he let him observe, he let him watch.

"The sheriff's son, who would've thought, right? It all seems ironic," Stiles laughed.

"Stiles, you're being stalked," Derek said flatly, Stiles watched Derek shift uncomfortable, "Tell me, how did you come up with that?" Stiles humored him. Derek didn't think it was something to be humorous about. Stiles life was in danger and there they were drinking beer. Derek scowled, "You're life is being watched, you've been watched since then-"

"Alright, sourwolf, I've already known that there's a camera in my bed room that wasn't there before, and there's another one in the kitchen," Stiles said calmly. Derek raised an eyebrow, "Don't worry, they aren't audio cameras, just the standard vision."

Stiles calm, Derek was sitting there rigid and comfortable about the situation. But Stiles was deceiving the cameras. Derek put it together; Stiles didn't want, whoever it was that was watching him, think that he was obsessing over what he's done to him. "And that's why protection isn't possible," Derek mumbled. "You thought I noticed them," Derek gave Stiles a confused look, "Well yeah, but I can see that I've not been trained the same way as you,"

"I'm a profiler, Stiles," Derek leaned into the chair, "I study people,"

"Well, Duh," Stiles rolled his eyes as he sat back against the chair, "But I can't blame you, I played it off, like I was trained to do, you wouldn't have seen me actually react to something like that," Stiles laughed. It clicked in Derek's head, Stiles is smarter than he puts off. His brain seems to function at high speeds, (Because ADD does that someone brain, it's a thing) He notices things, but he doesn't act on them, because instinct tells him to wait, wait for the right moment.

He didn't take the cameras down, "Do you have an idea who put them there?" Derek asked seemingly relaxed. "Yup, I know exactly who put them there,"

They sat in silence, Derek wanted to know, but there was no way he was going to pry. He hated that, but it was killing him.

"I once had this boyfriend, he was real possessive, and I don't mind that, it's when it becomes obsessive that I have a problem, and well he was that," Stiles eyed the photos of him and his father. "My dad hated him, and I won't lie, I hated him a little too,"

"Do you always speak in stories?"

"Hush, this is important," Stiles cringed his face in a funny way, earning him a smile from Derek. "Long story short, he didn't take the break up well, and well who can blame him," Stiles smiled, "Can't resist a Stilinski's charm," A wide grin found his lips. "how long ago was this?"

"8 months and 8 days ago," Stiles wasn't smiling anymore and whatever color was in his pale cheeks was now gone. He almost seemed bipolar with all the mood swings; at least he wasn't throwing shit around. "Damn, the Stilinski charm must be something hard to recover from," Derek didn't think about the words that came from his mouth. It wasn't until he looked at Stiles, like really looked at him that he saw it.

Stiles giggled, (it was a man giggle, he chuckled, defiantly chuckled) "You made a joke," Stiles leaned over the armrest of the chair. Derek rolled his eyes and the scowl remained. "No, I was just simply stating-"

"Nope, Sourwolf made a joke," Stiles teased, seeming like a five year old that saw their parent slip up. Derek growled softly trying to seem annoyed, but he wasn't. Well he was, but not because of the taunting.

"Shut up," Derek said

"Now way, I'm not letting this one go, We're going to be partners, so I'm training you. Stiles 101," Stiles said jokingly, "Stiles 101?" Derek questioned with a raised brow.

"Yup, I've learned more about you, Sourwolf, in the last 20 minutes then you have me in the last two days," Stiles laughed

"Would you stop calling me that," Derek growled, "Where did you come up with it anyway?" Derek crossed his arms, "You seem like a wolf guy, proving me right with your growls of disapproval," Stiles said jokingly, "And you seem a little sour, so-"

Stiles stood up and took the luke warm beers from the table, "You need Stiles in your life,"

Derek didn't want to respond as to how right he was. Derek wanted Stiles in his life. But things would be complicated when they started work together. Another reason Derek didn't like the assignment at hand.


	9. Chapter 9

Why he felt the way he did, well, that was hard to explain, considering all things Derek. Stiles was a different character, he was happy, and verbal. Derek was slightly less of what Stiles was.

"What's happening Saturday?" Stiles asked. Derek took a moment to organize his thoughts and recollect what he was really supposed to be thinking about. "Classified," Derek answered. There was a grunt that came from the kitchen then Stiles showed up to sit back down. His eyes were filled with amusement and his smiled was honesty.

"I agreed to be your partner, are we going to be keeping secrets?" Stiles mused with a huge smile. Derek felt a sting in his chest, this was going too far, he knew Stiles and at the same time, he didn't.

"It's a birthday party," Derek admits, "The chief's daughter is like a niece to me," Derek felt embarrassment take control of the blood flow to his cheeks. Stiles stares at him for a short second and shakes his head with a laugh.

"I see why you didn't want to tell me,"

Derek and Stiles finished their evening and Stiles was glad to have—No he wasn't. He wasn't happy all that he had the house to himself.

Maybe when he began work he'd have better use of his time. Maybe he'll just let himself drown in it.

Derek was driving home when his phone rang.

"Boss." Derek answered. Chris chuckled.

"Derek, how'd it go?" he asked.

"Unexpectedly. Boss. What is it exactly that Stiles is going to do Saturday?" Derek asked. Because he, honest to god doesn't even know.

"He has to evaluate everyone there. I want to see him on the playing field." Chris says.

So this was a test. Not an actually assignment. It was more of an assessment. Derek sighed and finished off his conversation with Chris and went home. He was so very done with everything. It was great that he had tomorrow off. Maybe he'll visit his mother's tomb. Maybe.

Stiles was half way asleep when he's phone rang again. He froze. His blood chilling over as he sat up on his bed.

"_Stiles,_" The voice, that gruff and irrating voice rang through the still house. "_Stiles, I wanted to see you. I know you've had a long-_"

"Stop!" Stiles shouts, covering his ears as tightly as he can. "Stop . . .Please. Just _Stop._"

The calls continued until Stiles disconnected his phone line. Sleep wasn't going to happen for Stiles . Because he wasn't crazy. He was just stalked.

It was so bad that Stiles refused to leave his room for the day. There wasn't anything he needed. He forgot and didn't care that Isaac was coming over. He didn't need company—Okay he did, but didn't want Isaac's.

Stiles pick up his phone and looked for Sco-

_Shit._

Stiles spent his day crying. And even more crying.

He realized what an empty space of a shell he's sudden become. There wasn't anyone around to bug him or for him to bug. There wasn't anyone he could tell what to eat. He—He was alone. Isaac came by. But Stiles didn't bother in answering the door. He didn't want too.

Isaac told him to eat and drink water. Because he knew Stiles would starve himself he has once before. Even if now, comfortable in his home, he wouldn't—Yeah he would. There wasn't any reason for him to want to eat. Let alone make something for himself. Himself.

Derek was out of bed and working out around nine AM. He needed something to keep his mind off Stiles. There was something that was behind Stiles' eyes. It was like an itch that Derek can't reach. It was annoying.

What was it about Stiles that really bother Derek? Maybe it was just his entire being? He just seemed like that kind you can't trust, but you want too. Derek wants to-

No. He doesn't. He really doesn't. He can't afford to trust someone who was put int-

But he can't bring himself to blame Stiles. He can't blame the kid for wanting to be a beautiful deceitful creature.

Really, what was he thinking? Derek was way too deeply invested in this Kid. He didn't even know him, so why fuss over someone who didn't need fussing over?

"Ugh." Derek grunted as he sat up from his crunches.

He needed a new job.

Stiles was asleep on his couch when a knock was at his front door. The knocking continued and Stiles cursed himself for getting up.

"I'm trying to sleep and you-" Stiles stops as he opens the door and sees Derek. He was dressed in casual clothing and looking confused. He looked as if he didn't really know why he was standing on Stiles door step.

"Uh, I could le-" Derek started and Stiles raised his hand up to stop him.

"No, um, I thought you were someone else." Stiles stepped aside to let Derek in. Stiles headed out to the couch to see if—Who was he kidding. He wasn't going to sleep.

"Sleepless night, I take it." Derek said as he made his way behind Stiles. Stiles just nodded.

"I, uh, kept getting some really annoying and creepy toll free calls." Stiles rubbed his forehead nervously. Derek was a profiler, and Stiles was giving away signs of distress too easily. Stiles glanced up at him; his eyebrow was raised slightly in a frown.

"I- Your making it real easy to read you're state of being." Derek says honestly. Stiles gives a huff and a side smile.

"Yeah. It was to much effort to put up a wall. But we're partners now, I don't have to wear that wall around you." Stiles says, honest to god, carefree and open. Stiles wasn't to sure if he should leave himself so open to a stranger.

Yes, that was just his mind talking. But when wasn't Stiles' mind talking?

"Right." Was all Derek said.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Derek, when he first entered Stiles' home, noticed the atmosphere and the mess of blankets and pillows in the living room floor. Next, Stiles was being honest. He wasn't hiding anything. The kid in front of Derek was exposed like a fresh wound.

Not to mention that Stiles looked like a fresh wound.

They sat in the living room, staring at the television screen. Supernatural played on mute as Stiles seemed to drift off into sleep. Derek didn't want to move him from his nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, Stiles looked like he'd been through some shit. So Derek figured, let him rest where he wants. Who was he to stop him?

Stiles was asleep by the time Dean and Sam figured out that there was a shape-shifter in the bank. Stiles seemed so peaceful and calm. That hurt Derek in a way he didn't understand. His heart was stabbed somehow.

Derek ran a hand over his face and sighed. He had a soft spot for this kid. He was in trouble. In so much trouble.

_Damn._


End file.
